A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my new story! This is a Modern AU of S3-S6 that eventually ditches canon and goes in a different direction. I don't see as much as a quarantine fic as more of a Modern AU that conveniently uses quarantine to trap them in the same house. It will be a while before we get to that part of the story so it might feel a bit dated for some once we reach there. I'm an American so if there are any inconsistencies that pop up, that's why! Oddly enough, I feel like it's harder to write things in the modern day for Downton than it is in the canon era.
Just a few things to clear up before we begin: the Crawley House mentioned in this story isn't the Crawley House from the show— I just decided to call it that to keep it in the mix, but I envision a completely different layout for it in this story. I've also changed the ages of characters around in the story— Matthew and Tom are now roughly the same age as Mary. Most of the things I have changed drastically (especially with Tom and Sybil's backstory) is because I couldn't see a way to directly translate it into a modern context.
I hope you enjoy it and please feel free to give me your feedback!
New Normal
Chapter One
May 22, 2012
He sat on the bench by the tree, the same one where she had gone to seek refuge from Mama and Papa whenever she felt they'd been unfair. Whether she was a surly five year old or an emotional fifteen year old or a heartbroken twenty year old, the bench had been her safe haven. It seemed clear to her that it was now Tom's as well.
"Do you mind if I join you?" Mary asked, hating to speak. Her voice, though soft, shattered the quiet and the peace. Birds were chirping and the sun was shining and Tom had clearly been lost in his own thoughts.
Tom glanced up before nodding. "Of course."
Mary sat down. There was a sizable gap between them, one Mary didn't feel comfortable enough to close. Up until a week ago, the closest she had been to him was a couple polite handshakes. They may have grabbed each other's arms once or twice in moments of great haste, but their relationship was mainly a cordial one. In a way, it seemed absurd there was still this awkwardness lingering about them— he was practically her brother-in-law, for heaven's sake.
"Have you thought about the christening yet?" asked Mary.
Tom let out a noise between a laugh and a scoff. "Why else for you think I'm out here?" When Mary have him a dubious look, he clarified, "Your sister asked the same question." Mary couldn't resist grimacing at the idea of her and Edith having the same thought. "Your father's up in arms about her being a Catholic. I had to point out the last name on the birth certificate is Branson, not Crawley, and that I can do as I please."
Mary couldn't resist rolling her eyes. Papa had never gotten used to the idea of Tom and Sybil together— an Irish car mechanic who dabbled in socialism wasn't an ideal choice in partner for his baby girl. The past couple of years had been tough— Papa had disapproved of the relationship, of the engagement, of Sybil's plan to move to Ireland and marry Tom after graduating, of the fact his daughter was pregnant before marriage... even though they lived in the 21st century, Papa was horribly old fashioned.
Things had been better for a period of time. Sybil decided not to return to school for her final semester, which came as a shock to everyone who knew her. Ever since she had been a little girl, she had dreamed of being a nurse and helping people. "Knowing my luck, the baby would come during finals," Sybil insisted. "And when I graduate, I'd be the size of a boat. No," she'd said, "I'm going to wait."
Tom had a flat that Sybil stayed at frequently when she was at uni— Mary wasn't sure why her parents even bothered paying for housing on campus when she spent so little of her time there. Nevertheless, Papa had been opposed to the idea of Sybil living there, obsessed with the propriety of it all— why he felt the need, Mary couldn't say. However, he had caved once Sybil's pregnancy progressed, after her sister insisted that it was hard to manage such a life changing time without Tom's. There was reluctance on all ends for him to move into the Abbey... and it wasn't a marvelous development for anyone involved.
"They fight nearly every day," Sybil
had complained. "It's usually Papa starting it but Tom'll pick arguments, too. The stress isn't good for the baby!"
"And it isn't good for you either. You look so pale," remarked Mary. In hindsight, she found herself wondering if that was an early symptom or simply a result of the enormous stress she was under.
Sybil had shaken her head. "He's so hard on Tom. I don't understand it." She stuck out her chin. "He was never this hard on Matthew— or Anthony, for that matter," she said, referring to the man who only mere weeks prior had left their sister at the alter.
Mary shook her head. "You're the youngest. I'm sure that has something to do with it... and Matthew did things the way Papa likes it. He asked permission before proposing. Tom never did." Sybil huffed, crossing her arms above her protruding stomach. "Your fiancé is a bit of a bad boy, darling."
Sybil rolled her eyes. "It's an outdated, antiquated, and sexist custom. Papa doesn't own me and Tom won't either. And I hope you realize that Tom's treated me with a great deal respect— far more than Larry ever did," she added, referring to her ex-boyfriend.
Funnily enough, that conversation had taken place on the same bench Mary and Tom now sat. How strange it was, mused Mary, to think that only a month ago, her sister had been alive and seemingly healthy... and now she was gone.
That sobering thought brought her back to reality "Ignore my father. He'll come around. Sybil's his first granddaughter," assured Mary. It sounded so strange, saying that name without referring to her sister. She hesitated before adding, "I'll stand up for you, at any rate. She told me that she wanted the baby to be Catholic." Mary knew that she didn't need to clarify who she was speaking about.
"Did she?" Tom was smiling now— a sight she hadn't seen in what felt like ages. "Oh, God, she really?" His hand had found hers.
Mary couldn't help but think of the last time they had touched— her and Matthew had been forced to drag him from Sybil's hospital bed as he begged her not to leave him, his ragged voice louder than the sound of the machines and doctors who were trying to keep his fiancée alive, and when he'd fallen to his knees on the linoleum floor, Mary had followed him down, hugging him as he wept into her hair and too shocked by what was happening to cry herself.
This, she decided, was far more pleasant. Mary squeezed his hand ever so slightly. "She did."
Much to her embarrassment, tears were in his eyes. One would have thought she'd be used to the sight by now, given the hell they'd gone through, but a reminder of delicate emotions always made her uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, it's just— well, I never knew."
"It's quite alright," Mary assured him gently as possible. As he dried his eyes, she realized it was time. "Actually, there was another reason I came today."
"Oh?"
Mary chewed on her bottom lip. "Sybil told me another thing. Before..." she trailed off. He knew what she meant; there was no need to say it. "She said that you needed to move forward." Tom didn't seem to be following. "The point is Tom, you can't keep living here." This house, this environment, was terrible for him. Sybil's death had well and truly destroyed him. He didn't even have a respite at work, the sheer grief and the responsibility of raising a baby weighing on him so greatly his mind that he had quit his job.
He looked as if he'd been slapped. Tom's shoulders tensed, a dark look crossing his face as he scowled. "Don't worry. I won't intrude much longer here. I've talked with my brother in Liverpool—"
"Oh, no, Tom!" Mary cried out, horrified at how easily her words had been misconstrued. "No, I was about to say that Matthew and I have two spare rooms at Crawley House. One for you and one for the baby." Tom stared at her in astonishment as she continued, "You can stay with Matthew and I, as long as you need to. But being with Mama and Papa— well, it's no good for anyone. Especially not you and the baby."
Tom seemed torn. "Does Matthew know about this?"
"It was his idea." Mary couldn't help but smile at his shock. "I'm ashamed it wasn't mine."
However, Tom still seemed reluctant. "It's very nice of you offer," he said, in that stiff, polite voice that didn't suit him at all. "But have either of you thought about what will happen when the two of you have children of your own?"
Mary had to look away. The topic of fertility was a difficult one. Ever since marrying, her and Matthew had been trying for a baby with little success. In the midst of the torture that was funeral planning and burial arrangements and her own insurmountable grief over losing her baby sister, Mary's period had arrived two days after her sister's untimely death. It was yet another reason to lock herself in the bathroom and cry.
"We can talk about that when the time comes," Mary told him, glancing back at him now. "I suppose if things were ever that dire, they could share. But I doubt it will come to that." Mary met his gaze. "Will you think about it?"
Tom hesitated before nodding. "I will."
"I'm glad to hear it," she said sincerely. She reached out, taking his hand again. "You know how to get ahold of me or Matthew if you need anything." She squeezed it once before letting go and rising to her feet. They said their goodbyes and Mary wandered up the path, leaving him to digest his thoughts.
June 16, 2012
Mary yawned, stretching out in their large bed. Matthew's side was empty— judging by the temperature, he had risen some time ago. Sunlight streamed in through the parted curtains as Mary sat up. She picked up her discarded negligee from the night before, only to toss it on the ground. She threw on something a little more modest, wincing before deciding to put on a bra. Having another person in the house was going to change things immensely...
The stairwell was a mess. Cardboard boxes were littered everywhere— prior to the arrivals of their new houseguests, Mary and Matthew had used the spare bedrooms as storage space. Moving Tom and baby Sybil in had meant a lot of sporadic rearranging and not nearly enough care to where things were placed. Mary and Matthew were also notoriously untidy— it was a miracle, in Mary's opinion, that between the two of them, they'd managed to keep the floor visible.
When she made it down the stairs, Tom and Matthew were at the table, steaming cups of coffee in hand and newspapers laid out in front on the table even though they weren't reading them. Baby Sybil was in a bassinet next to the table, sleeping. Tom was in the middle of some amusing story when Matthew noticed her. "Mary!" He leapt to his feet to kiss her cheek and pull up a chair. "I was about to wake you! Look," he gestured to the table, "Tom's made us breakfast."
"You shouldn't have," Mary said, although she was heaping her plate already with sausage, eggs, and toast, the mere sight of the food making her ravenous. "If anything, we should be the ones making you breakfast!"
Tom shook his head. "I was up early and I thought I'd show my gratitude."
"You're family," insisted Matthew. "You're allowed to accept our hospitality. I mean, you only moved in yesterday!"
"I mean to do my fair share," Tom maintained. "Until I can pay rent, I'll do whatever I can to help out around here."
He didn't want their pity; Mary understood that. She was the same way. In the first month, Tom had been malleable to their fussing over him but now that the fog of grief had slowly begun to clear, he had been ready to move into action. Mary rather thought the baby helped— she was someone he could focus on, someone who needed him.
"Of course," she said, taking a bite of her eggs. These were delicious... they were almost as good as Matthew's, which was quite the feat.
Before she could tell him so, Tom had squared his shoulders firmly. "I don't want to impose on the two of you longer than I have to. Once I find another job, I'll find a way to pay you back and look for my own place."
"Don't worry about all that now," said Matthew, reaching for his cup of coffee. "Just focus on Sybil and getting back on your feet." He took a sip. "Though if you want to continue expressing your gratitude this way, I won't stop you! This is one of the best meals we've had in ages!"
"Thanks... though I wouldn't say that in front of Mrs. Patmore," said Tom, earning a laugh from Mary when she thought of the family cook.
"Oh, I wouldn't dare," said Matthew, chuckling. "I cook most of the time, or we order take out. I'm decent but I'm nowhere near as good as you." Matthew reached for his fork.
"And what about you?" asked Tom, and Mary realized then he was directing his question at her. "Do you cook?"
"I have many talents, but cooking simply isn't one of them," Mary replied primly. "I can scramble eggs but that's about it, I'm afraid." She stole a glance at Matthew, whose lips were twitching. She would give credit where credit was due. "And it's only thanks to Matthew that I even know how to."
"How'd you survive during uni?" Tom questioned.
"Anna. Obviously."
Tom nodded, as if that made sense. "You didn't take advantage of cooking lessons?" He asked. Mary immediately knew he was referring to the weeks Sybil had spent in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore before leaving for school, determined to learn how to do things properly. The rest she learned from Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper.
"It never occurred to me," Mary said, thinking of the girl she had once been. Mary hated to say it but back in those days, she had been quite a snob. She'd never truly confronted the privilege of her upbringing until she found herself living with Anna Smith, who came from a considerably more modest background. "Edith and I were rather ill prepared. Sybil was smart enough to think ahead." Mary remembered her first incident with the washing machine, humiliated by the overflow of suds in the laundry.
Tom wore a sad smile— the same kind of smile he wore whenever her sister was mentioned. Mary couldn't begin to imagine the pain he felt— she hadn't believed in soulmates until Matthew. Losing him would be like cutting off one of her limbs.
Sensing his melancholy mood, Matthew directed the conversation to his own exploits in uni, forcing them to focus on happier things.
August 13, 2012
Mary opened her eyes, unable to focus on anything. The lights were bright, too bright. People were talking around her but she couldn't understand what they were saying...
"Mrs. Crawley? Are you awake?"
"Mmmgh." She closed her eyes again.
"We'll bring your husband back— it is your husband with you today, isn't it?"
Husband... Matthew... "No," she groaned.
She heard more noises, like typing on a keyboard— it was too loud. "Oh, I see— your brother-in-law. Someone's gone to fetch him now."
A few minutes later, her vision cleared and she was sipping on juice box. A couple pills for the pain had been swallowed already. A package of crackers sat in front of her but Mary wasn't hungry— not now anyway. Tom shuffled into the room.
"How're you feeling?"
Mary shrugged, uncertain how to respond. She was still groggy.
"I spoke to your doctor in the hallway. He says all went well." He offered her a smile. "I texted Matthew, by the way. He's glad... he says again that he wishes he could have been here..."
Mary wished he was here, too. Still, it was pure dumb luck that her surgery had been moved to the day of his big thing at work. At least Tom was here... he wouldn't coddle her, like Mama and Papa... and she was fairly certain he wouldn't take delight in her pain as Edith surely would.
Once she had done all she needed to do, Tom stepped in the hall so the nurses could help her change out of her hospital gown. She winced at the sight of the incisions on her bare stomach, averting her eyes as best as she could as she pulled her clothes back on. Instead of her usual smart looks, Mary had stolen a pair of Matthew's sweatpants and a baggy hoodie from his wardrobe. She had to tighten the drawstring on the former in order to get it to stay up on her slim hips, but it worked and it was infinitely more comfortable on her sensitive abdomen than her regular clothes were.
Tom came back in with Dr. Ryder before she left, who explained everything in more depth. The fibroids had been removed and once her body had healed, he was fairly confident a baby would soon be on the way. They provided her with an ice pack, a prescription for painkillers, and paperwork. Tom signed some papers and soon they were leaving.
"Can you go a little slower?" Mary grimaced as Tom hit a bump in the road, gripping the dashboard. She pushed the ice pack tighter to her stomach, as if the cold would obliterate the pain away.
"Of course. Sorry." Tom slowed down, swerving out of the way of any potholes in the road. "Are you hungry at all? I can swing through some place."
Mary shook her head. "I just want to lie down." She hated admitting to such a thing, seeing it as a weakness, but after living with her and Matthew for two months, they had grown considerably more comfortable in one another's company.
"Understood. We'll just stop to get your medecine, alright?"
Mary waited out in the car, responding to texts on her phone. Papa was near frantic, Mama kept asking for details, and Edith kept asking if she was in pain. Mary ignored her texts entirely, focusing on trying to calm Papa and satisfy Mama's endless questions. Tom arrived ten minutes later, apologizing profusely for the wait. "There was a long line..." before driving back towards Crawley House.
Mary hadn't anticipated steps being a problem until she stepped up on the first one. She winced. The pain meds helped dull the pain, but they didn't do away with it entirely. "Tom," she called out, gripping the banister. "I hate to ask, but do you mind helping me up the stairs?"
He was by her side in an instant. "Of course not." She leaned into him, using most of her energy for lifting up her feet. Mary felt as if she had been through a marathon by the time she reached the first landing. She eyed Tom's bedroom door enviously, wondering if having the biggest bedroom in the house was really worth it before climbing up the remaining stairs to the top floor.
Tom helped her into the bed. "Do you want the blankets on or off?" He asked.
Mary hesitated. "On," she decided, and he drew them up to her chin.
Once he was certain the pillows were arranged as they should be, Tom said, "Right. Anything else I can get you?"
Mary shook her head before changing her mind and saying, "Might I have a glass of water?"
A few minutes later, Tom was back with her drink. "You should go get Sybbie," Mary said, sipping on her drink. Mama had come up with the nickname and it had stuck. "She'll be missing you."
Tom shook his head. "I'll wait until Matthew gets home. I'm pretty sure all those papers I signed all say I'm supposed to stay with you."
Mary leaned back, sighing. He was probably right... "Matthew could always pick her up, couldn't he?"
"He doesn't have a car seat in his car," Tom reminded her, and Mary felt like a fool. God, how was she going to raise a baby? He sat on the edge of the bed, posture far too stiff for the casualness of the gesture. "She'll be okay for a while longer. Besides, it's good for her to spend time with her grandparents." He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of it.
Mary didn't blame him. Mama had accepted him by now, truly seeing him as a part of the family... but Papa... well, Papa only seemed to merely tolerate Tom's presence for the sake of Sybbie. Their relationship was far less tumultuous now, the fact they now resided in separate households improving things on that front, but the favoritism towards Matthew was evident. Mary knew he would never admit to it, perhaps not even to himself, but she knew Tom was discouraged by constantly being snubbed by Papa. He was seeking out approval, in some small way, at least for the sake of maintaining a cordial relationship, but Papa had yet to relent in his harshness.
Mary shifted slightly, trying to get a better view of him, but only succeeded in causing another twinge in her stomach. "They do love her, you know," she told him, doing her best to reassure him. Tensions with her father had still been fraught but it hadn't taken long for Papa to warm up to his granddaughter. Like Sybil, it was impossible not to love her baby.
"I do," Tom said, nodding. He was staring at the wall— or perhaps the window on the wall. He seemed a million miles away. "Does— does she look like Sybil? When she was that age?"
Mary closed her eyes. It was hard to remember clearly, when she had only been four years old at the time of her birth, but there were pictures to go by as well. "A little. The curls, for sure. But I think her hair is more your color."
Tom managed a small smile. "Thank you, by the way," she told him.
"It's no problem. It's the least I could do, after all the things you've done for me."
"I truly don't know what I would have done if I had to rely on my family," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "Not that you aren't family, of course— because you are— but you don't drive me up the wall."
She heard him laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You jest, but it's high praise from me," Mary said wryly. She stretched one of her legs out, accidentally connecting with him. He didn't flinch away but she moved her foot so it wasn't as close to him.
"Believe me, I know. What was it you called me that one time? An oily driver?"
Mary let out a laugh, which only succeeded in making her stomach ache, but did nothing to dissipate her mirth. "That was Edith, not me." She tilted her head up. "I'm rather offended, you know."
Tom laughed. "My apologies, milady."
Mary laughed again, this time pressing the ice pack to her stomach for much needed pressure. It struck her then, how strange it was, that she was laughing with her former car mechanic. Before accidentally receiving some salacious texts from Sybil, Mary had only seen him as the Irish mechanic who she entrusted with her Rolls-Royce anytime there was a spot of trouble. Their exchanges has been purely perfunctory and professional... and now he was the man her sister would have married, the father of her niece, her roommate... and now maybe even a friend.
July 22, 2014
It was so unfair that one person could be so adorable. Mary stared down at Sybbie with adoration, entranced by her. Her springy curls were so precious...
"I'll miss her," said Matthew from behind her. He pressed a kiss to the top of Mary's head before joining her on the sofa.
"Don't even talk to me about that," Mary whispered as his arm wrapped around her shoulder. She still hadn't taken her eyes off of her, determined to savor every last moment with her niece. "It's too horrible to bear."
Matthew kissed her cheekbone. "I wish Tom didn't feel like he needed to leave so soon," he said quietly before using Mary's shoulder as a pillow. He was similarly transfixed by Sybbie.
"He's been with us for over a year now," Mary reminded him... and herself.
"You don't want him to go though, do you?"
Mary shook her head. Truthfully, she had grown used to Tom's presence... and she rather liked having him around. They stayed up late many evenings, swapping stories and laughing together. Her and Matthew were well-fed as well, always impressed by his culinary abilities. In fact, they had lived together with Tom longer than they had without him.
"At least the nursery won't be empty long," Matthew said brightly. His other hand came to settle on the swell of her stomach.
Even though she was glad— so, so glad— Mary felt years prickle in her eyes. It made no sense... this moment with the man she loved, her niece she adored, in their dream home and his son in her womb, was as close to perfection as she could imagine. Mary had never known that it was possible for one person to feel so much love. But she couldn't stop the tears from falling. "I don't want it to be empty at all," she managed to choke out before letting out a sob. Matthew's thumb came up to wipe the tears away. "Oh, damn these stupid hormones..."
"Careful," he said, somewhat amused. He had become used to her mood swings. "We'll have to implement the swear jar."
Mary rolled her eyes, even as tears continued to fall. "She's sleeping," Mary sniffled.
"Even so," said Matthew, smirking. "If Tom asks me why his daughter has started cursing, I'll have to rat you out."
"Oh, shut up, you... you sea monster," Mary said with no real malice, giggling slightly. She met Matthew's gaze, a challenge in her eye. "Besides, Tom's far worse than me." She remembered a colorful exclamation the other night when he stubbed his toe on the bottom step that would have made even Thomas blush.
"Not in front of Sybbie, he isn't." He kissed her nose. "He keeps his language cleaner than a priest."
"It's hardly as if you're a saint yourself," Mary smiled, tears already gone now. "What was it you were saying to me late last night?"
His cheeks started to flush. Mary was about to tease him further when she heard the front door open. They could continue their conversation later... though knowing how things usually went around here, it would be much later. It was good that Mary could be patient when she needed to be.
Sybbie's eyes opened. "Dada?" She babbled.
Mary smiled. "That's right. Dada's home," she told her, smiling widely. She glanced over to Matthew. She didn't even want to contemplate standing right now, now with her bulging stomach... "Will you...?"
She didn't even need to finish the question. Matthew picked Sybbie up without another word. "Come along, sweet pea," he said, kissing her forehead. "Let's take you to your Dada, alright?"
Mary smiled after him. She had her doubts, about whether or not she would prove a good mother, but she was confident he would be a good father. The best father, she thought, watching him bounce Sybbie in his arms before taking her out to Tom.
"How was the hunt for the flat?" asked Mary, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice when Tom joined her in the living room, having a seat in one of the plush armchairs. Sybbie was in his lap, reaching for his face. Matthew took his place beside her once more, arm reassuming its place around her shoulder.
"Promising," said Tom, grinning. "I think I've found a place in York."
"But that's so far away," Mary found herself lamenting.
"Not that far," insisted Tom. "And it will be close to the paper."
"What's it like?" Matthew asked, trying to remain diplomatic.
Mary barely heard what Tom said, only gathering it was a sizable place with two rooms. "But who will look after Sybbie?" she questioned once he was finished.
"There's a daycare nearby... and Cora has already offered to drive over everyday to watch her." He smiled. "So I'll have options."
Matthew beamed. "Well, we're pleased for you. Both of us." He squeezed Mary's shoulders ever so slightly, as if to remind her. "Though I hope you know we'll both miss you."
"I should think you'd be looking forward to having some of your privacy back," joked Tom. Still, he smiled before adding, "And don't fret just yet. We'll impose a little longer, I'm afraid. The landlord is doing some renovations in the kitchen and it'll at least be a month before it'll be ready to move into."
"In that case, I'm fairly certain you'll be the one pleased to get rid of us," said Mary, grinning. Her hand fell to her stomach. "You'll have to put up with a crying baby for a while."
"He'll be nothing compared to Sybbie, I imagine," Tom said with a laugh.
August 21, 2014
The pain was unbearable.
"You must remember to breathe, Mary—"
Mary grit her teeth. Where was Matthew?
"You're doing very well, Mrs. Crawley."
So many voices... but not the one she wanted. Not even Anna, with her dulcet, "You're doing well, Mary, it won't be much longer," was able to soothe her.
When Matthew burst in through the doors, her agony vanished for a nanosecond. Windswept hair, rosy cheeks, still in his suit... "I'm so sorry, my darling, I came as quickly as I could," he said, breathless as he reached her side. Anna was already excusing herself, Isobel asking if she ought to stay or not... but all Mary could focus on was him.
Forty five minutes later, Mary was cradling the most perfect human. Ten fingers, ten toes, a head of dark hair. "Our little prince," Matthew whispered, staring down at him in adoration.
George Reginald Crawley. Mary traced the soft skin of his cheek with her finger. "I've never been this happy before in my life," she whispered, not daring to look away from him. She had worried for months that motherhood wasn't for her...
"Nor I." He kissed her temple reverently. "I'm so, so proud of you."
Mary twisted her head so that she could lean forward and kiss him. She had never loved him so much... all their most memorable moments seemed to pale in comparison to this. They had a family, a baby of their own.
"I haven't dared check my phone yet," whispered Mary, not wanting to disturb George. "What's everyone saying?"
Matthew fished his phone out of his pocket. "Shrimpie and Susan send their congratulations," he said, scrolling through the messages. "Rose is wondering if we named the baby after her... but she says she's only joking."
Mary rolled her eyes. Typical Rose.
"Tom's asking how you are." Matthew typed for a couple seconds. "Poor chap. He must be terrified out of his wits."
"He was, rather," said Mary, thinking of the moment she realized she was going into labor. The whole family (save for Tom) had been invited to a garden party at their cousins, the MacClares. Mary was so close to her due date she didn't dare to go, but had insisted Matthew put in an appearance. She had never dreamed she would go into labor while at home with Tom— his shock at her water bursting on the kitchen floor would have been humorous had it not sent him into an honest to God panic attack. He was in no state to drive, meaning Mary had called Anna to drive her to the hospital. Isobel was called to ensure Tom was alright and once she had ascertained he was, she had joined Mary and Anna at the hospital as Matthew battled traffic.
"Robert and Cora are wondering when they should come," read Matthew.
Mary bit back a sigh. "I suppose we ought to just bite the bullet."
"Alright. I'll let them know." He texted them back.
Fifteen minutes passed in admiring their son before Matthew asked, "Darling, would you think me terribly rude if I were to go home? I want to change into some more comfortable clothes for the night—"
"And check on Tom?"
Matthew smiled sheepishly. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm worried about him."
"I don't blame you," she said softly. She had never seen anyone so panicked in their lives. It had been startling, to realize she was the level headed one as Tom wept on the kitchen floor while she dialed Anna. "You can bring him too, you know. I'm sure he'd like to see the baby... and Sybbie could meet her new roommate."
Matthew laughed before leaning down to kiss her. "Sounds like a plan." He paused, meeting her eye. "You know I love you, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Mary breathed. Even after eight years of loving him, he never failed to take her breath away when he uttered those three words.
Matthew smiled at her. "I can't imagine my life without you," he told her honestly, misty eyed. "You— you are my life. And I'm so glad I insulted you that first day in class—"
Mary let out a laugh before leaning in to kiss him, trying to stop herself from crying as well. "Who would have thought those two bickering children would grow up and have a baby?" she whispered back.
"Not me," admitted Matthew. "But— you've made me so happy. I never dreamed I could feel so much love."
Mary smiled widely, unashamed to let him see it. For so many years, she had hidden her real self away, determined to let everyone see the version of her that she wanted in the world. But Matthew loved her for who she was— her strengths, her flaws, her triumphs, her mistakes. "Nor I," she whispered back, letting him kiss her again and again.
They parted with shaky, bashful giggles. "I really need to go," he insisted. "If I stay a second longer, I'll be stuck here forever."
"I wish you would," said Mary coyly, though she was only half joking.
Matthew smiled adoringly. "It won't take long," he said, walking to the door to put distance between them. "I love you both and I'll be back before you can even miss me."
"Love you," Mary called out as he stepped out, their eyes locking before he vanished from sight.
Isobel reentered the room a short while later, smiling. "I hope you don't mind I've returned," she said quietly, "but Matthew's just told me the plan and I wanted a chance to see George again before I pop home for the night."
"Of course," said Mary. "He's your grandson."
Just then, George's eyes opened. Bright blue, as all baby's eyes were. His mouth opened up as he let out a cry. "He might be hungry," Isobel suggested as Mary stared down at him in simultaneous fascination and terror. "Have you managed to nurse him yet?"
"I did, earlier," said Mary, trying to maneuver her gown to assist him. Isobel, ever the professional, helped her and even managed to help guide him so he would latch on. For maybe the millionth time that day, Mary was grateful to have her as a mother-in-law. Though she had her moments where she could be overbearing, Isobel truly would do whatever she could to help.
"Matthew told me his middle name is going to be Reginald," said Isobel a minute of two after George began nursing. "I cannot tell you how happy I was to hear it."
"We thought it was only right. We want to honor him, in some way—" Mary paused once Isobel's phone began ringing.
The older woman frowned. She wasn't known for being the most technologically savvy, though she was leaps and bounds better than Granny... but then again that wasn't saying much. "I don't know this number," she said with a frown, squinting at the phone.
"It might be a scam call. You won't believe how many I receive," Mary told her.
"I think I'll answer it. Just in case. It might be a relative, wondering about you and the baby." The phone continued to ring and Isobel beamed at her. "I'll take it out into the hall. I'll be back in a minute or two."
But she wasn't back in a minute or two. George has his fill and Mary did her best to bring her gown back up to keep her breast from remaining exposed to the cool hospital air. She supposed it must be a relative, given how long it took. She didn't mind; it gave her a chance to be alone with her son.
Fifteen minutes passed. George was fussing. Mary wondered if it was his diaper... but she wasn't supposed to rise from the bed. She was about to ring for the nurses when Papa burst through the doors, a helium balloon in hand proclaiming It's A Boy!
"Thank God you're here," breathed Mary. "Do you mind fetching a nurse for me? Only I think George needs his diaper changed and I can't seem to get out of bed."
"Mary," Papa said, almost ignoring her. "I'm afraid I've some bad news." He paused. "No. Not bad. Terrible."
It was then Mary realized how awful her father looked. If she didn't know any better, she would have assumed he had been through a war. There was a haunted look in his eye.
It hit Mary suddenly. Tom. "Oh, God." They shouldn't have left him alone at the house...
"I'm so sorry," Papa was choked up. "I— I don't know if I can bring myself to say it... It's Matthew."
Mary felt as if a steamroller had gone over her. George was wailing now, demanding attention, but his mother was preoccupied. "What's happened?" Her voice was a million miles away.
"He... he was driving home. And there was this driver... they don't know if he was drunk yet or just on his bloody phone... there was a horrible crash..."
Mary's heart sank. Suddenly she didn't care about her instructions. "Where is he?" She was rising to her feet already, heart pounding in her chest. Papa took a couple steps forward, trying to urge her to stay in the bed but she was up in an instant, holding George close to her. "I need to see him!"
"Mary, he's gone!" Papa was weeping now.
"No!" That wasn't possible... he had just been here, he was with her... "You're lying!"
"I wish I was. He's gone, my dear girl, I'm so sorry—"
She could process it. Matthew was gone. Any moment she would wake up... he would be by her side, smiling and laughing and kissing her... he wasn't gone, he couldn't be, he wasn't dead...
But then it hit Mary like a ton of bricks.
Papa let go of the helium balloon. It drifted to the ceiling, making a soft crunching noise as it contacted.
And she screamed.